


just for jack kelly

by orphan_account



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, modern!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David is pretty sure the world hates him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just for jack kelly

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. I am so sorry.

The minute Jack opened his mouth and announced, “I think we should all go out and do something fun tomorrow” – David knew that he was in for “something” that had about a ninety-eight percent probability of scarring him for life. Even when he was running on two hours of sleep, he was still sensible to enough to know that if he stayed here, he would be dragged along on Jack’s mighty adventure, which – by the way – is the actual reason he immediately began shoving his schoolwork into his backpack. Last time he agreed to follow Jack to some kind of event, the world decided that it hated him.

It seemed harmless enough – a girl asked him to dance, but he wasn’t able to say anything - except attempt to explain that he wasn’t interested, without hurting her feelings. Apparently his response was jumbled enough with the music and general chaos that the “sorry, but no” had been mistaken for a “alright”. And if anybody knew David - they knew two things – 1) He couldn’t dance to save his life and 2) wasn’t able to turn down somebody’s request. (He may or may not have also been three seconds from revealing his crush on Jack, so there was that.)

David slings the strap across his body so that he can stand up, the chair stuttering out behind him.

Jack is in the middle of explaining why going to a baseball game was the best idea ever, hands gesturing wildly around his head - and the rest of their friends, damn them; seem to be enjoying the idea.

 _They definitely can’t wait for sunburns and overpriced food_ , David thinks to himself, slipping on his jacket and trying to back his way up to the door as discreetly as he can manage - which is…not very discreet as he would like. He’s hoping to make it out of the coffee shop before anybody notices that he’s gone, but Jack (the admittedly rather attractive shithead) notices David’s sudden absence and looks over. David winces. He also, rather eloquently – might he add, doesn’t say anything, freezing in his spot with a somewhat-guilty expression.

“Where ya going, Davey?” Jack asks, confused.

David is scrambling to think of an excuse to be leaving so early, when there was nothing more pressing than his homework.

He opens his mouth to say something, hands clutching the straps of his bag awkwardly, until he can feel every imprint of the fabric woven into his palms.

“Davey?” Crutchie says worriedly, hand stretched in David’s direction, as if he were to stand up and make his way over to him – if he could, that is.

“Uh,” David musters, before somebody crashes headfirst into him, spilling water down his shirtfront.

He watches the liquid drip, drip, drip into the tiled floor before he realizes that he’s supposed to be holding up a conversation, and jerks his head up. Jack is still watching him, and the waitress who walked into him is apologizing, offering a free drink or something of the sort – not that David’s really listening, but he responds with near automatic phrases of “don’t worry” and “it’s okay”, “no, I really don’t need anything for it”, and she scurries off after shoving a few napkins into David’s hand.

He’s way too sleep-deprived for this.

“Davey,” Jack prompts, “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Oh,” David says, “Uh, yeah,” he mumbles, “Just…tired, you know? Finals take a lot out of somebody.” He runs a hand through his hair before twitching a smile onto his face. Jack’s approaching him now, and that’s the exact opposite of what David wants him to do because David most certainly does not want to join him on an adventure and end up outing himself without meaning to, so he checks his watch compulsively.

“Uh, I think I need to go,” David says.

His phone ringing saves him from Jack’s grasp as he dashes out the door, because Les a godsend and knows exactly when to interfere – leaving Jack’s hand curling into a fist, arm stretched out in front of him.

“Huh,” he says, turning back to his friends with a raised eyebrow.

“That was weird,” Race replies, frowning a little.

“Something’s off with ‘im,” Finch says.

“No, duh shithead,” Race says, cuffing him on the shoulder.

 Jack drops dejectedly into his seat by Crutchie, head cradled between his hands as he mutters something about “Davey finally snapping and admitting his hate for him”.

Crutchie pats him on the shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s gonna be a’right,” Crutchie says, “He’s probably just tired, Jack. Davey doesn’t hate ya.”

Jack picks his head up from the table, expression pained. “But what if he actually does, Crutchie?” he whines mournfully, “You know tha’ he’s too nice to tell people what he really thinks about them.”

“No,” Spot says, “I don’ think he hates ya.”

Jack throws a suspicious glare in his direction. “Where’d ya come from, Spot? Thought Brooklyn was your turf, huh? I’m pretty sure that this ain’t Brooklyn.”

Spot shrugs, comfortable. “I promised ‘im that I wouldn’t tell, but ‘m a hundred and fifteen percent sure that Dave don’t hate you,” he shrugs and crossing his ankles, “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“You sure?” Jack narrows his eyes, “I dun think so,” he mutters lowly.

“Oi shut up,” Spot says, “Ya know that I don’t spout bullshit, Kelly,” he growls, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I don’t care if ya think I’m lyin’ most of the time, but I ain’t right now.”

Jack sighs, “Fine. If I say that Davey don’t hate me, so will that make ya shut up?” he asks, half mockingly. Spot snorts.

“Yeah,” he replies.

Jack clears his throat for show. “Davey doesn’t hate me,” Jack says, raising his eyebrows. “Now shoo.”

“I said tha’ I would shut up, not leave,” Spot replies snarkily, crossing his arms.

Jack rolls his eyes, but settles down, turning to face Specs and Romeo instead, seeing as Crutchie had been stolen away by Race during the few seconds of conversation he had with Spot.

Specs has his lips caught between his teeth and Romeo has his mouth pursed, as if the latter can’t quite believe the conversation that had just unfolded in front of him. Specs immediately notices Jack’s gaze on him, and startles, eyes flaring wide and offering a sheepish grin.

“You’re hopeless,” Romeo says, shaking his head.

 

\--

 

            The time that David gets his homework done, he has a total of twenty text messages from both Jack and Katherine, asking what Jack did that was really so horrible as to make David ignore him. Though David thought he had a bit of self control, he still couldn’t stop himself from replying with “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired” and then throwing his phone away from him before they could send a message back.

It’s not to long before his phone rings, Jack’s number popping up on the caller ID, but David ignores the device, choosing instead to bury his head in between pillows and waiting until the call transferred to voicemail.

If he isn’t careful, Jack will end up pulling David headfirst into a whole flurry of trouble, and probably getting him to admit his crush him halfway through the day without Jack even meaning to. Then David would end up ruining their friendship and living three steps behind the person that he loves so much. He isn’t going to risk it. Not from looking at it in a cost-benefit point of view, and – boy – did David look at it.  

No matter what Jack will do, it will most certainly never convince David to go to that baseball game. No. Fucking. Way.

 

\--

 

Jack convinced David to go to the baseball game.

 

\--

 

David huffs as Race shoves him into the seat beside Jack and then scurries off – probably to claim the space next to Spot.

“Jack,” David says, poking him in the ribs, “You realize that I don’t know how baseball works.”

“It’s okay,” Jack replies. “All ya need t’know is that a home run is good, somebody’s out if a fly ball’s caught, and don’ be on the kiss cam.”

“You’ll be fine,” Henry assures David, reaching over a few people to pat his knee.

David hums, unconvinced.

 

\--

 

The first hour the of game had gone and past, and David was one of the only ones who still didn’t quite understand what was going on. The other two were Specs and Finch, who were – luckily – in the seats right behind David so the three of them would often glance at each other whenever something important seemed to happen, leaving them the only people who were still sitting down.

“I have absolutely no clue-wait. Was that important? Why am I on the-?” David jerks his head between the large screen mounted above the baseball field – the words “KISS CAMERA” loud and blocky above the pixilated viewfinder focused on him and Jack.  

“You’re supposed to kiss,” Race hisses in a stage whisper smugly.

“Wha-kiss? Me? Kiss?” he says, “Kiss Jack? _Me?_ ” he adds for good measure – as if he was afraid that nobody knew what he was talking about.

“Yes!” Finch yells.

“But we’re not dating!” David practically shrieks (rather unlike him), “We’re not together! Guys do they know that we’re not together?”

“ _They_ don’ care,” Henry cackles.

David can’t get another word in edgewise until the whole stadium begins booing at the screen, a few chants of “kiss, kiss, kiss!” mixed in with the noise.

David’s breath stutters in his chest.

_Oh no, oh no, oh my fucking god no. This isn’t supposed to happen. This is exactly the opposite of what’s supposed to happen I knew that I shouldn’t have let Jack Kelly drag me into this mess. Oh god, I’m never going to get out of this, I’m never going to live this down, Jack’s just gonna stop being my friend right now and – FUCK – I am so screwed I don’t know what to-_

“Oh what the hell,” Jack shouts, throwing his hands up in defeat before grabbing David’s collar and dragging him close enough to lock their lips together, all tongue and teeth and for show. Jack squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that David would _get the memo_ and start kissing him back.

The only problem is, David’s frozen in shock, because this is _Jack,_ and _Jack Kelly is kissing him because he wants to,_ and this is _Jack Kelly’s lips on his –_ those same lips that he’s been caught thinking about and those same lips that he never expected to be able to kiss and _holy fucking shit he’s kissing Jack Kelly._

David breathes out shakily, before canting his head sideways into a more comfortable position before he tentatively starts to return the action, then letting his arms sneak up around Jack’s neck as the other’s hands end up on the sides of David’s jaw, dropping to his waist, then settling in hyperaware brackets low around his hips. David’s thankful that there’s a chair underneath him, because he doesn’t quite know if he’d be able to hold himself up at this point.

There’s a spectacular amount of wolf-whistling as Jack and David pull apart – the former moving to press his forehead against David’s, both their cheeks flushed – pupils blown. A boyish grin is plastered over Jack’s face and David has to hide the flush that sets his cheeks on fire, by pulling the collar of his sweater over his face, and trying to shrink down in his seat as much as he can.

David presses shaking fingers to his still-tingling lips after retracting his arm from the jacket sleeve. Jack wraps an arm around David’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of his cheek, and leaning in to whisper something soft in his ear. David turns bright red and squeaks, a feat that’s worth a standing ovation, mainly because David’s head was usually the only one screwed on correctly.

The game starts up again after a few more kisses from couples in the crowd, before David decides it’s safe enough to retract himself out of his sweater shell, eyes darting frantically between Spec’s calming smile and Jack’s satisfied expression.

David realizes that he’s staring, but not before Jack does as well – the latter twisting in his seat, eyebrow raised.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks. David nods. Jack shrugs.

“I mean, there’s really not all that much to talk about, Davey,” Jack says, “I like you a lot and I think you like me. ‘Cause if you didn’t, I just threw you in for a big loop there.”

David feels his breath catch.

Jack likes him.

_Holy shit._

He sounds like a teenage girl fawning over boys, but _holy shit_ , Jack likes him and Jack kissed him and Jack isn’t doing that for show and Jack isn’t just lying about what he’s feeling, and David really needs to find somewhere to relocate if he doesn’t want to outright collapse in front of him.

“Uh,” he manages.

Jack slips his fingers into David’s.

“I like you too,” David squeaks, burrowing his face into his free hand, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating.

He doesn’t need to be looking at Jack to know that he’s smiling.

\--

“I’d say we were successful?” Race asks, looking over to Spot and bumping shoulders playfully with him. Spot hums under his breath, head tilted to the side as he surveys Jack and David a few feet in front of them, Jack’s hand on the small of David’s back, the latter’s head on Jack’s shoulder.

“ ‘M pretty sure that David’s still tomato red, but it all worked out a’right, so I don’t think it ain’t all that bad,” Spot replies.

“Yup,” Race says, eyes fixed on the pavement in front of his feet. He doesn’t notice when Spot grabs his hand, until he pulls, tugging them into an alleyway.

“I think,” Spot whispers, “That we should have some celebratory sex, then,” he says, leaning up to press a biting kiss against Race’s lips, the two of them fumbling their way into an abandoned shop.

“I second the motion,” Race replies, shoving Spot up against the nearest wall, fingers pressed flat against the other boy’s chest, before Spot flips their positions – shoving a knee between Race’s legs.

He hisses and groans at the same time, the noise fading out into a whimper as he grinds down on Spot’s thigh as his hands are pulled above his head, a steady arm pressed against his wrists to prevent him from moving. Spot leans down to catch Race’s lips in another kiss, their breaths heavy and mingling in the dim room.

“Fuck,” Race manages.

Spot sucks a bruise to his collarbone, lips curling wickedly around the appendage.

“That’s what I intend to do, yes,” Spot replies cheekily, nosing at Race’s jawline.

Race grins despite himself, “Very funny, Conlon.”

Spot’s breath ghosts against Race’s cheek, his lips soft against the skin around his earlobe, “You won’t be laughing by the end of it,” he growls lowly, “Because I intend to make you scream.”

\-- 

**Author's Note:**

> I tried for a modern!au-ish feel, so this isn't in 1899 New York City just fyi
> 
> BYE


End file.
